


My Rose

by pristinelyungifted



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, May be ever so slightly sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 15:37:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7513846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pristinelyungifted/pseuds/pristinelyungifted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She used to be beautiful, at least she still is to me. She used to be the woman that every man fought over, they would buy her trinkets and perfumes. What made her choose me will forever be a mystery. She could have been a queen, someone important. Instead, she settled for just being my wife.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Rose

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this years ago for a lesson, but I've always been pretty proud of it! It wasn't first made for The 100, but I read it again recently and that was the first thing I thought of. I'm starting a new job tomorrow so my nerves are all over the place, and going through this helped a lot! Feedback is always appreciated, and I really hope you enjoy this!

It was just a rose. It wasn't anything elaborate nor did it look like anything important. It was just a small, yellow, rose. But still, it brought the first genuine smile I had seen in over a year. Her pale, thin lips curved at the corners and her now dull eyes began to sparkle. 

I was out of breath from running back to the house, I had begun to think I was too late, that I never got my chance to say one final goodbye. But when I saw her chest rise with her shallow breaths I relaxed. Only slightly. It wouldn't be much longer now. 

She used to be beautiful, at least she still is to me. She used to be the woman that every man fought over, they would buy her trinkets and perfumes. What made her choose me will forever be a mystery. She could have been a queen, someone important. Instead, she settled for just being my wife. 

She defied everyone, everything, just to be my wife. She was scorned and hated, ridiculed and tormented, just to love me, a woman, and to let me love her back.

I ran my hand down her once beautiful blonde hair. It felt like silk in my work-hardened hands but my eyes told me differently. It hung from her head, limp and dull, lacking the lustre and shine that it had once held. Her smile broke through the weariness and dread, like the sun when piercing through clouds, radiating throughout the room. She was tired after fighting with her illness for so long and dreaded the thought of this fast coming eternal oblivion. A single tear traced its way down her grey skin, leaving a small wet trail as it landed on the pillow.

“Thank you” She croaked, her voice seemed rusty after weeks of silence.

“It's just a rose” I whispered, astonished that a small thing like this could bring her such joy. If I had known I would have brought one to her every day.

She coughed weakly “It's not just a rose. This is everything I have ever loved. I thought I would...” And she paused, unable to say what was to occur before the night was over. “I never thought I'd see them again.”

I closed my eyes. Of course, it wasn't just a rose. How could I have been so stupid, so thoughtless, as to think that? A rose signified life and love. She was my Rose. Right from the start. She was my life, my love.

“Do you remember,” She whispered, “When we first met?”

I nodded. How could I forget? She had come straight to my stall, handing me coins for bread and some vegetables. Of course I had heard of her. They all described her as pretty and skinny, where they should have described her as beautiful and perfect. They had said she was the woman of every man's dreams. Yet they failed to tell me that her eyes had the pattern of the most beautiful sky, the perfect blue. That her smile made you feel as if you had floated into a warm Summer's day. No one had told me that her laugh was the best song ears would ever have the privilege to hear. That with just a look she could send a shiver down your back and that her smile could turn even the gloomiest days into something sweet.

“You ran after me once I'd left your stall” She carried on as if I had needed to be reminded. “You gave me a rose, not a red one, but a rose like this when all the other men gave me red. No, you gave me something different, something special. Why?”

I was lost for words. I had never really stopped to think about it.  
“Because…” I began, “Red roses are seen as delicate, they are given to delicate people. You, my love, are anything but a fragile, delicate ornament, to be put on show for all to see on a shelf, where you would gather dust and eventually break. No, you are sunshine in a thunderstorm, you're the light of my life, not a red gloom. You are my bright everything.”

Her smile was the smile I had seen when I had given her that very first rose. Her eyes shone with her love, her chest swelled with happiness. 

And then she was gone. 

It wasn't slow or painful as I had been told it would be. Her heart had just stopped. within the blink of an eye, she was gone, out of my grasp. She had slipped into oblivion before I had been given the chance to pour my heart out to her, to tell her just how I feel whenever she was near. Before I had been given the chance to say one last “I love you.” I closed her eyes and leaned forward, pressing my lips to her forehead, my tears streaming into her hair. I sat back, looking at the smile that still ghosted her face. A real smile, a genuine smile. Not the kind of smile that she had been forced to use for my benefit, to make me feel strong when she was the one who needed strength. A book by her side caught my attention, drawing my hand to it. 

It had been her favourite, something she had first read as a little girl. A story about a prince and his princess, a story of love and adventure. She always called me her hero, her champion. And I spent every day trying to prove that I was. Trying to prove that I was there for her, when her family kicked her out, when the town despised us both, that I would forever protect her. That I would forever love her. I opened the front cover of the book, my quiet tears turned into racking sobs. 

There, on the first page, lay a dried, old, yellow, rose.


End file.
